How to deal
by Links6
Summary: ... the first time Sam had to deal with a death... wee!Chesters


Disclaimer: I do not own supernatural or any of its characters or related themes... this is purely fanfiction.

AN: really morbid, and thus, slightly OC. This is something everyone has to deal with at some point... and sometimes... there isn't a 'good way' TO deal. We just have to go on.

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**How to deal...**

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"But I don't want to .." Sam said and hiccupped again. This arguement had lasted twenty minutes already. By now, the grave was already dug out and the small black kitten was already in the grave.

"It'll help, Sam," John said and patted Sam on the shoulder, pushing the shovel at him again. He looks over to Dean.

Dean was knee deep in the grave at this point, he hadn't started refilling the grave yet. He was resting on the handle of his shovel, sweat ran down his face as he panted. This was a hard job for a twelve-year old. The ground was hard and hadn't been irrigated for some time. It was like digging in concrete. But he didn't dare complain...

Sam shook his head vigorously, "I don't w-want to... I don't want to say goodbye!" he practically yells in a fit of mild hysteria, tears running down his face. He quickly crouches down and hides his face in his arms.

"I know you don't want to..." John placated, and rubbed circles on Sam's back in an effort to calm down his youngest. He hated doing this, it felt like he was ripping out his heart, one piece at a time. He swallowed dryly and cleared his throat. He knew, even though Sam might hate him for it now, he'll be better off in the long run. He won't carry this burden. John wouldn't consider the death of their pet kitten 'tragic', but for Sam... he knew Sam must feel like the world had just ended. And John knew exactly what _that_ felt like.

The only difference is, John can never have the closure Sam might. Even if he finds the yellow-eyed demon, he can't bury Mary's body. He can never get closure like that. But he can do this. And he was determined to save his sons any pain he could.

"And I know It hurts right now..." John said and sighed, "but it will be better-"

"When?" the eight-year old Sam practically yelled. He sniffed wetly and coughed.

Dean grunted as he climbed out of the grave and walked over to Sam. He reached down and pulled Sam up by the neck of his parka. He grabbed the shovel from his dad and half-dragged Sam down to the edge of the grave. He dropped the shovel in front of his brother and picked up his shovel from inside the grave.

"You don't have to do it, Sam," Dean said and picked up a mount of dirt in the shovel. "All it is, is saying goodbye."

He dropped the mount of dirt down the grave. He took in another breath before starting again, "You accept the fact that Skittles was here... we had a great time together... we played all the time..." Dean said and dropped the next mount of dirt into the grave. "... but you also accept the fact that he's gone now... he died..."

Sam looked up, his face scrunched up, "I hate you!" he muttered darkly and stood up. He wiped his nose, grabbed the shovel and filled it with dirt. He had to lean back in order to be able to lift the dirt up. He edged closer to the edge of the grave and slowly dropped the ground down, "_I hate you... I hate you..._" he kept muttering, his voice straining as he started crying again.

Dean keeps a straight face, but John can see the hurt in Dean's eyes. The same sadness shining in his eyes, like the sadness shone there when Mary had died. Dean had become silent back then. It was the loneliest time in John's life. Probably Dean's too. And right now, they both were reliving it.

John left after a few minutes, going back inside their small rented cottage. He started on a couple of P&B sandwiches and milk. He makes sure they both shower before eating.

Sam's face was still swollen, even by the time he was sitting at the dining room table.

Dean still had that look on his face. His normally bright and alert olive eyes were dark and red-rimmed, but with no signs of crying. His shoulders were tensed and slightly hunched, but his movements were still as easy and smooth as ever. He was trying his best to look as normal as possible. He would never admit it, even to himself, but Sam's little outburst had broken his heart. He seemed fine... but the signs were there. And John could see it as clear as daylight.

At least Dean was eating. Sam, on the other hand, had his head down and hadn't even touched his food. John sat down opposite them and preoccupied himself. He knew... this was something the two of them had to sort out alone.

Sam sniffed and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, "Dean..." he said, his hand lowering to his lap. He was looking down with a rejected look on his face. He hiccups again.

"What's wrong, Sam?" Dean asked, his voice low. He took another bite of his sandwich to stop himself from saying more and John noticed that too.

"Deaannn-nnnnhhh..." Sam's voice suddenly turned into a whine, as if he was about to start bawling again. And bawl he did. The sniffling tears from outside were suddenly replaced by loud hiccupping sobs. His small frame shook as he continued, "I'm s-sorry-yee about wha-what I s-s-said!"

John smiled softly and busied himself with his cup of coffee.

Dean, stopped eating and dropped his sandwich on his plate. He took a breath and for a while, Sam's sobs still echoed through the room. And then, in one fluid, a true hunter's motion... Dean turned to Sam and pulled him towards him. He dropped his forehead forwards and nuzzled into Sam's hair, leaving his relieved smile unseen. "It's okay, Sam... shh... I forg-give you... it's okay..."

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Thanks for reading...


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